


The Way You're the Nearest to My Heart

by MooseFeels



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Genderqueer Character, Romantic Fluff, kanzashi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-05 06:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MooseFeels/pseuds/MooseFeels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel loves the beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way You're the Nearest to My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Elatrometer for helping me with the edit, as well as AshesInYourHair for the idea.

            Dean notices it for the first time when they're in the china shop. Sam is interviewing a grieving widow while Dean is poking around in the store front, and Castiel is holding a teapot to the light, turning it critically around in the light.

            "This is a lovely piece," he says solemnly.

            "Pardon?" The widow asks, her voice thick with tears.

            "This teapot," Castiel explains as Dean and Sam have frozen in place. "The porcelain it's crafted from is very fine, and the detail on the flowers is exquisite."             The words are strange in Castiel's deep register, but his sincerity is clear. His brow is furrowed as he studies the spray of pink flowers that covers the teapot. "The design is unconventional, but your husband was very talented. A shame he was not better recognized."

             And once Dean and Sam get over the shock of Castiel's ceramic appreciation, the interview goes much easier even if it is occasionally interrupted by the woman directing Castiel's study to other pots.

             When they leave, they've got a fair idea of what took out the husband (but catching a nixie in a town with a lake this big is going to be a pain in the ass) and Castiel is reverently carrying a box with the teapot he noticed- an insistient gift of the widow.

            "Dude," Sam says. "That was incredible. How did you know she would open up like that?"

            Castiel shrugs as he sits down in the backseat. He's placed the box gently in his lap. "I didn't know," he answers. "Her shop is excellent, however. I hope we can make it back there some time in the future."

             Dean bites his tongue, because while Sammy is blood and he's stuck with him forever, Castiel can (and will) leave if Dean's being a jerk.

             The teapot is just the tip of the iceberg. Soon, Dean starts noticing little things- the way Castiel's fingers linger a long time over the smooth and soft heft of good fabrics, the way his gaze is reluctant to leave the buds of spring flowers, the way he'll pause what he's saying to catch the sweet sound of singing in the background. When he falls, finally, it shows up in the floral scent of shampoo he picks out and soft pastel clothes he picks out at Goodwills and Salvation Armies.

            It's not without a great deal of effort and what Dean considers tact that he finally adresses it.

             "Hey, Cas," he asks one day as Castiel bends over low to gently pull a purple flower from the grass. "Don't you think," he sighs and pauses, tense. "That that stuff is kind of...girly?"

             Castiel gently tucks the flower behind his ear, and the deep purple nicely complements the lavender shirt he picked up a few states over. "Angels have no gender, Dean," he answers. "Until a few months ago, I was no man. I'm still not, not entirely."

             He smiles, and the gesture is so small and so honest across his face that it hurts Dean a little. "Besides, I think it would be a shame if the appreciation of beauty were to be gendered."

             And Dean figures that's a fair point.

            A few weeks after that, Castiel finds out about something called "kanzashi." Read about it while they were looking up information on a kappa that came over with a family in the 1960's.

            And soon the little ribbon flowers start showing up in their lives. Castiel makes them in their hotel rooms, working with short sections of silk he spends long hours in the backseat of the Impala cutting. His hands are steady and patient as he lines every careful petal onto a small post.  There is a slew of failures, but once he gets the hang of it, the results are beautiful.

             Dean can't bring himself to stop buying the supplies for him.

            It's rare that Castiel doesn't have a couple of the flowers strewn in his hair. He's partial to small and simple clusters of flowers, darts of dark green poking out from between pale pink cherry blooms and yellow canola flowers. The light colors poke out clearly from his dark hair, clipped to pull his short hair away from his face.

            He looks delicate and soft- he's pretty in a way that keeps Dean awake at night and makes his mouth dry. He's still hard and tough and undefeatable in a fight, still has a mouth full of sharp wit and brilliance. It makes Dean think of an old cliché- steel wrapped in silk.

            Winter eventually melts into spring, and daffodils accompany the ribbon flowers and the layers melt off of Cas.

             They're waiting for Sam to traipse back from a library, waiting at a park, and Dean finds himself absently twisting flowers in his hands. He's not thinking about it, but soon he's roughly fashioned a crooked crown of the small clover flowers. Castiel is reading over a book not too far from him, so Dean leans over into his space and slips the crown around Castiel's head.

            He starts slightly and looks up at Dean and carefully and pats the crown. He smiles at Dean broadly.

             "Thank you," he says.

            The sun catches his eyes and lights the space where his light pink button-down parts from his pale collarbone. He glows- creamy pale color and beautiful flowers and bright blue eyes and pink cheeks and lips and Dean leans forward into his space and kisses him gently.

            He smells like the clover and cheap laundry soap and flowery deoderant. His skin is warm and soft under Dean's hand where he cups his jaw. He kisses back softly.

             When Dean pulls away, Castiel looks down coquettishly.

             "Took you long enough," he murmurs.

            His nails are smooth under Dean's fingers from the pale pink nail-polish when they hold hands. Their gait is shuffling and joyful and goofy when they head back to the impala. Dean even as a little ribbon flower tucked into his hair when Sam comes back.


End file.
